Fifteen Years
by awrestlinggod
Summary: A man enters the headquarters of WWE with evil intentions for the McMahon family. Luckily Stephanie McMahon is not in the building at the time but this means that she has to deal with the aftermath. Co-Author: LittleTayy
1. Chapter 1

Friday May 23, 2014

The plan had gone totally wrong before the man with the gun even entered the headquarters of WWE, not that he knew it.

He thought things we working out perfectly as the first part of today's work had already gone so well, Shane McMahon lay dead in the hallway of his house with a bullet hole in his forehead. The man had waited for Shane's wife and children to leave the house before he made his move, there was no reason that they should be hurt.

There were still two people that did have to get hurt today before he took his own life. He entered the headquarters building and made his way to the reception desk. While he was not exactly a familiar face here he would certainly be recognised and accepted. Beside this was the fact that the sentence he was about to deliver to the woman who had just greeted him happened to be true, "I have an appointment with Vince McMahon."

Not needing to clarify his name the woman checked on her computer screen and after a few mouse clicks she said, "You can go up sir. You know the way, right?"

The man nodded and the woman said, "Have a great day."

He thought, "I'm having a perfect day darling and it's about to get better."

He walked over to the elevator and pressed the button. He looked around and saw a meat head in a suit stood nearby making a bad job of acting like he was not a member of the security detail in the building but again the man attracted no suspicion.

The elevator arrived and he entered it. As the doors slid closed and the elevator obeyed his command and headed for the top floor the man checked the pistol was still in place in his coat pocket, not that he wasn't already sure that it was there.

The doors slid open as the elevator reached the top floor and the man felt disgust at the splendour of the place. What right did these people have to all of this? Well they wouldn't have it much longer. He walked along the hallway and saw a fairly tall young woman, the man guessed at maybe twenty five, with long jet black hair and striking green eyes walking towards him dressed in a black suit and a blue blouse. The man was so taken by her appearance that he was momentarily distracted, "What's your name miss?"

Apparently surprised by the question the woman stopped in front of him and spoke in a voice that was surprisingly soft, "Laura. Can I help you?" The man noted the strange pronunciation and asked, "What is that, Mexican?"

He noticed the woman's eyes flair in irritation, "It's Italian. If you don't mind I'm busy..." She made to leave and the man refocussed on the job at hand and said, "Sorry. Can you tell me where Stephanie McMahon's office is please?"

"Keep going the way you are, last door on the left."

The man said, "Thank you Laura," attempting the pronunciation himself. He followed her simple directions and walked into the outer office of Stephanie McMahon. A middle aged woman with blonde hair and too much make up, apparently a secretary asked, "Can I help you sir?"

The man remained calm despite being so close to his second target, "I'm here to see Stephanie McMahon."

He got the first hint that something had gone wrong when he saw the woman's face change to a look of slight confusion. Then she dropped a bombshell, "I thought I called everyone who was coming in today. Mrs. McMahon is off sick, I can rearrange an appointment for you?"

The man tried and somehow succeeded in hiding his rage as he inwardly screamed, "The fucking bitch isn't here! Shit! Fuck it!"

He said, "No, it's fine. I only need two minutes, I'll see if Vince is free. We go way back."

The woman nodded and resumed her work, not realising her decision not to ask questions may have just saved her life.

The man headed out of the door and turned left. He didn't need directions to Vince's office. He reached the end of the hallway and entered Vince's outer office. Vince's secretary was on a phoce call so the man walked straight past and into Vince's office despite her protest of, "Hey!"

As he entered the man saw Vince look up from his computer screen and recognise him. He stood and said with a smile in his deep voice, "Hello, good to see you!"

The man asked, "Is it?" As he did so he pulled the gun from his pocket and after taking half a second to aim as Vince's eyes widened he fired and hit Vince above the right eye, sending blood and brain matter cascading into the windows behind him and his body crashing to the floor and killing him almost instantly.

The man heard screaming, unsurprising as the gunshot sounded throughout the top floor of the building.

His plan now having been changed the man decided what to do next. He walked calmly out of Vince's office, intending to force someone into telling him the location of Paul Levesque's office. As he walked out into the hallway he realised that this would not be necessary as Paul was walking towards him.

Seeing the gun and who was holding it Paul said in shock, "What the fuck?"

The man said, "Tell your wife that she's the luckiest bitch on the planet."

With that Bret Hart raised the gun to the side of his own head and fired.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This is now a collaborative project written by myself and **LittleTayy**. If you haven't done so already please check out her work, it is well worth your time :)

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><p>Time seemed to stand still for eternity as the gunshot rung loudly in Paul's ears and his eyes widened in horror. It took him several moments to process what had happened and what was going on around him as the ringing in his ears continued. He shook it off quickly; stumbling back a little as a breathless, <em>"Fuck," <em>left his lips.

After the initial shock had worn off however he glanced around him, seeing wide eyes and terrified faces and knew he had to get into action. He barked out orders to call the police and the ambulance, even though he wasn't exactly sure if ambulances took dead bodies. The thought of dead bodies reminded him then of the initial reason he'd been out in the hallway, in front of the now dead Bret Hart, his body sprawled across the hallway still leaking blood onto the carpet at a rapid rate.

He had heard a gunshot. It had reverberated across the whole of the top floor and he had been up and out of his seat in a heartbeat. He looked up the hallway then, wondering where the former wrestler had been coming from and his heart dropped even further then it already had as his eyes fell on the half open door at the end of the hallway. Vince's office.

_He had to get to Vince's office, now!_

Paul stepped carefully around the body of Bret Hart, doing his best not to look down at the sight, or the blood on the walls and floor. As soon as he was past it he jogged quickly down the hall, stopping at the office door at the end. He took in the golden name plaque grimly; feeling sick to his stomach at what he was dreading finding behind the half open door.

Slowly he pushed the door fully open and immediately he saw blood and one of Vince's legs poking around the corner of the desk. This was all that he could see from the doorway but it confirmed his fears. Nausea swept over him as he stepped into the room, moving around the desk to see Vince's body. He closed his eyes tightly as soon as he saw it, wanting but failing to erase the image before opening them again and kneeling down beside him. His mind did not register that he had just knelt in his father-in-law's blood, or the bullet hole he could so obviously see above the right eye.

Instead he focused on pressing two fingers to the older man's neck, hoping, _praying_ even that he would find some type of pulse but there wasn't one. Paul closed Vince's staring lifeless eyes for him, closed them for the final time. Next Paul quickly stumbled up and away from Vince's lifeless body, running a hand over his face as he did so, trying to will the tears away. He turned quickly and exited the office and did not look back. He did not want to see his father-in-law like that again. He knew however that it would be an image he would always have ingrained in his mind.

He walked back down the hallway in a daze, cringing when he saw Bret's body and closed his eyes again. He felt bile rising in his stomach and he knew that he was about to be sick and he hurriedly took a quick detour down the next corridor, heading straight for the men's bathroom. He pushed inside quickly and ran into the closest cubicle and emptied his stomach into the bowl in a few almost desperate heaves. He closed his eyes and immediately saw Bret blowing his fucking brains out replayed in his mind and then the image of Vince's dead body on the floor in the office. It made him vomit again but there was not much left to bring up.

After what felt like an age he moved away from the toilet, flushed it and wiped his face as he backed out of the cubicle. The wrestling exec moved to the sink and rinsed his mouth out as he tried to process everything that had happened in these unreal last few minutes. He felt a little calmer now, actually thinking about what had happened when he came to a horrible realization.

Vince was actually dead. His father-in-law was dead. His wife's father was dead, had been murdered in fact and now Paul would have to go home and tell Stephanie. She was sick at home with the flu and he was going to have to go home to her with this news. How was he meant to tell his wife that her father was dead? That he had been shot by Bret Hart with no real explanation. She would be devastated, absolutely devastated at the news and Paul knew he had to keep himself together and be strong for his family.

As he thought about what he had to do he moved out of the bathroom, mind thinking of his poor wife and about his mother in law as well. He was so lost in the thoughts of his family and the impending grief that he almost walked right into a large dark haired police officer. Paul's eyes widened as the man started speaking to him; he had no idea what the officer was saying or how he had arrived in the building so quickly.

"What?" Paul asked gruffly, shaking his head as he zoned back in and tried to listen to the man. He saw the officer frown as he looked at him and that's when he realized there was blood, _Vince's blood_, on his clothes. "Sir, where'd that blood come from?" the officer asked cautiously but with tension also in his voice.

"It's not mine," Paul clarified, "It's Vince's… he's in the office... he's dead too," He had said the words but it didn't feel like he had actually said anything. He felt empty somehow.

"There's another fatality?" The officer asked in surprise and Paul just nodded.

"My father in law," Paul told him, "I'll show you."

Paul managed to start moving then, as if on autopilot going back towards Vince's office. He didn't go in there or look but he gestured inside to the police officer and stood outside as the officer checked the office.

Everything seemed to blur together for a few moments for Paul and now he was sitting in someone's office and a policeman in front of him started to talk. It was a different officer now, this one older with salt and pepper hair and a stern looking face that seemed to spin slightly in front of Paul. Again he shook his head to force himself to focus on the words that were being spoken to him.

"Sir, I understand you were Mr. McMahon's son-in-law. Is that correct?" the new officer asked, looking at Paul expectantly.

"Were? I am. I'm…married to his daughter, Stephanie. She was meant to be working today," Paul told the officer before a thought hit him and he added, "Fuck. Hart…he spoke to me before he fucking…y'know…he said tell your wife she's the luckiest bitch on the planet. Fuck he was looking for her too… Oh my god." he exclaimed, hands clenching into fists against his legs.

Bret had been looking for Stephanie he had to have been. Why else would he say something like that to Paul? It made his blood boil to think that the other man had wanted to hurt his wife, had wanted to put a bullet in her head if what he'd done to Vince was anything to go by. That bastard had entered the building with the intention of murdering his wife. All Paul wanted to do now was go home to his Stephanie and hold her tightly in his arms because there was the very real possibility that he may have lost her today, if he hadn't forced her to call in sick. In fact, he realized, with that insistence he had saved her life.

"Sir," the officer called loudly, bringing him out of his thoughts again, "Is there any reason you can think of for why Mr. Hart would have wanted to kill your father in law or your wife or even himself?" he asked, trying to get as much information out of Paul as possible.

Paul shook his head, he honestly couldn't think of anything right at that moment. "Vince and Bret had some uh… professional differences a long time ago and until a few years ago they genuinely didn't like each other but I thought they had put it behind them. Even if they hadn't why would it ever come to this? And why Stephanie? What does this have to do with her? I don't know, I just don't know," he told the officer with a shrug.

An image of his wife, the love of his life, the mother of his children, lying on the floor of her office with a bullet hole in her forehead forced its way through his imagination and caused him to dry heave again. The police officer jumped aside. Apparently he was weary of getting sick on his brightly polished shoes. Paul could sit in this office no longer, he stood and said with urgency, "I've got to get home, got to get back to my wife."


	3. Chapter 3

How could he do it? That was the question running through Paul's mind as he hesitated before unlocking his front door. How could he walk in here and tell his wife that her dad had been murdered? He still had the man's blood on his clothes. He still could not stop the scene of Bret Hart blowing his own brains out right in from him from repeating itself in his head or stop the image of Vince lying dead on the floor of his office from coming to him every time he closed his eyes. Maybe he never would be able to stop those things from happening? Maybe he was scarred for life? He felt certain that Stephanie would be by the news that she was about to get and he had to be the one to deliver it.

As horrible as the prospect was he was only making it worse by hesitating. He rubbed a distraught hand over his face before forcing himself to unlock the door and walk into his house.

Stephanie McMahon was curled up on her couch underneath a bunch of blankets hugging a hot water bottle. Even so she was still unable to get warm. Paul had definitely been right to force her into staying home today, she felt much worse now than she had a couple of hours ago. Her head pounded and made it impossible to concentrate on the TV. She narrowed her eyes as she thought she heard a sound; like someone at the front door maybe? A few seconds later she was sure, there were footsteps in the hallway. Heavy footsteps, distinctive footsteps. She could tell that her husband was home just from the sound of him walking towards the living room but the question was why?

Her voice almost failed her as she called out; it was more of a croaking sound than anything else. This flu was taking hold fast, "Paul? You okay?"

As he walked into the room she could tell that he was not okay. Firstly by the paleness of his face and the shock that he was unsuccessfully trying to keep from showing on it and then secondly from the blood stain on his shirt and was there one on his pants too? It was hard to make out on the dark material but yes it was there. Her husband was covered in blood. Getting up as quickly as she could manage Stephanie asked in horror, "What's happened? Where are you hurt?"

Her husband looked at her but his eyes looked vacant and he sounded a little dazed as he spoke, "Stay there. Sit there Steph, I'm not hurt." He walked over and sat down next to her as she asked incredulously, "Not hurt? There's blood all over you and you're as white as a sheet. What's going on?"

Paul knew he was making a bad job of this but he could not help it. As he had entered the room and looked at his wife, still beautiful despite being ill, he had been unable to think about anything other than the fact that she could so easily be dead right now. All he wanted to do was hold her. He had to hold her. Sitting next to her that was exactly what he did, grabbing hold of her and pulling her to him. Wrapping his arms around her he never wanted to let her go, never wanted to even take the risk of being apart from her again.

Still having no clue what was going on Stephanie began to get scared as she sat in her husbands arms. Not scared of him of course but scared about what could have possibly happened. "Tell me what's happened Paul, you're scaring me," she pleaded.

The shock of the morning's events was catching up to Paul quickly now and he began to cry, "Oh god Steph..." but he was unable to manage any more.

"What is it?" Stephanie pleaded again, tears of dread filling her own eyes now.

Paul pulled Stephanie even tighter to him, leaning across his body slightly with her head now resting on his chest as he said through his tears, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Your dad is dead Steph. I'm so sorry."

Stephanie wrenched herself violently from his arms and her tear filled eyes were as wide as saucers as she looked at him in horror, "Dad's dead? How? My god the blood, what did you do?"

"What did I do? Nothing Steph that's what I did. Bret Hart walked into the office and shot your dad and I did nothing." The words came on autopilot and Paul's voice sounded distant.

Unable to process this Stephanie weakly repeated, "Shot? Bret Hart? Dad's dead?"

"Yes Steph, he's dead. Oh god," Paul replied sadly but then his wife's expression grew determined and she insisted, "No. You must be wrong. My dad can't be dead. Not my dad."

Paul grabbed her in his arms again tears filling his eyes, "He is. I found him in his office. I found him. He's dead Steph, I'm so sorry."

Finally the realisation hit Stephanie. She was never going to see her dad again. He was dead, murdered. "No," the word was a long drawn out scream into her husband's chest as she burst into tears. She kept repeating it as she clung to Paul tightly as if he could do something to change this new reality.

Too consumed by his own shock and grief Paul was unable to say anything to comfort his wife. What comfort could words be right now anyway? He held her as tightly as he could and they both wept uncontrollably.

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><p>Two male police officers and another man in a suit walked along a hallway in a hotel. As they reached a door the man in the suit, the hotel manager said, "This is Mister Hart's room. I'll open it for you."<p>

He proceeded to do just that and the two officers walked into the room. The elder of the two led the way and the first thing that attracted his attention was a sheet of paper which had been left next to the TV. He looked at it before speaking to his partner, "We've got a suicide note."

The younger man walked over and joined his partner in reading the hastily scrawled writing.

_Fifteen years ago today my brother died. Not because of his own negligence as some people like to claim but because of the McMahon family. Responsibility lies with them and I can't let them carry on regardless of what they did any longer. What right do they have to be happy if I can't? Three people will die today in retaliation for Owen's death and what happened after it. I've watched the tape of their show from the night after Owen's death so many times and I see them standing there as they have the bell tolled ten times in his memory as though that means something to me. All three of them standing there at the head of the line of wrestlers wanting to pay respect to Owen and what are they doing? All three of them are crying. Vince, Shane, Stephanie; all crying. And for what? They are not crying for Owen or even me or the rest of our family. They are crying because they know how much money this will cost them. That is all they give a fuck about. Money. And in the end what happened? They made some lousy out of court settlement and forgot about it like it didn't matter that Owen died. They caused him to die and then forgot about him like he didn't matter. Well he has continued to matter to me for fifteen years and I can't live with what they did any more. Today Owen is going to matter to them again when they go to hell for what they did. I'll make sure that they know why I did what I did. I will tell them when I join them there._


End file.
